


To Pepper

by Rarae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Actually I know, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's not really sad, Love Poem, Until the end kinda, but I'm not telling, is pepper a plant or a person?, ode, one for each stage of life, poem, the world may never know, this is actually really cute and sweet, three stanzas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7051225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarae/pseuds/Rarae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Pepper, a beautiful burst of starlight in a world of grays, a gift from nature to mankind</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Pepper

A minuscule drop in time's great tempest,  
Helpless; vulnerable to predator  
And prey alike, yet cared for by gentlest  
Touch of the groping paw of this narrator,  
Who caresses autumn's dear hard-won child  
And places her in a warm bed of kohl  
In spun clay pot, so unworthy a place  
For this goddess of nature's great toil,  
She who blushes at the sun, my maid so mild,  
Who frolics with the dandelions wild,  
And dresses in her newly donned verdant lace.

But as young maids must sprout wings and blossom  
So does my precious Pepper, with her reds,  
And rainbows that fill her fresh bosom  
And turn all the green sibling's envious heads  
To gaze at her growth that towers above  
And faces the sun in all her springtime fame,  
Singing the songs that only are sung when  
The harvest is full and the men are 'wake.  
She with shells that overflow, ripe and belov'd  
In season's peak, that lovely yellow dame  
Whose dresses outshine a fire's peak flame  
And dazzle all who see her dance and spin.

But my perfect Pepper's spring was spun  
And youth forget that their time too will come;  
Soon winter waxes and your time is done  
With the steady beat of the ballad's drum  
That cues to to the young the wind has changed  
And shorn their wheat yet while the flowers burst.  
How mercurial that mercenary  
That come when he wont, almost deranged  
To steal away that which is not his: first  
Loves, mother's babes, and families in hearse.  
All the souls that should not the springtime bury.


End file.
